


coastline

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Ensemble Girls! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Granblue Fantasy, Crossing Timelines, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: She writes a letter meant to go beyond the horizon. | Ensemble Girls / Granblue Fantasy





	coastline

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for my dear friend's birthday! i have cleaned it up, and added a bit to it.  
> i'm....a big fan of the drama club + the revolutionary girls. anzu's relationships with all of them are really interesting and fun to think about.
> 
> bye bye for now,  
> angie @oceanblogging

coastline (the tide's door) 

(i'll build a house and live with you, even though it'll still take time.) 

.

.

.

“A letter? That’s a little old fashioned, sis."

Anzu chews on the inside of her cheek, formulating a response. Yes, it’s a little inconvenient but it’s the only way she’ll be able to say what she means. It’s easier, each pen stroke and sigh bends to her will. The sun beats against the windowpane, and her younger brother moves the curtains to offer her some shade. He’s wearing something closer to priory robes today, and she wonders if he’s finally made a decision about his future.

It would make one of them, it would mean the future wasn’t all that out of reach.

“It has to travel quite a way…” she hums, more unsure of herself with every syllable. A skyfarer, a crew leader, was to arrive later that evening and pick up her letter. She insisted it was no big deal, acting as a courier, but Anzu still felt uneasy. Like a burden. Even after Yako Konan’s big show of “It’ll be fine! It’s on the way!” it still felt—unreasonable. This entire ordeal felt like a selfish request and that was frustrating.

She crosses her legs at the knee, and digs her elbows into the mahogany writing desk. Anzu allows herself one sigh, one single sigh as she stares at the curtain that separated her from the bustling Golonzan main street. There wasn’t much time left, not for her, not for them. Her journey would begin soon, soon after—she’s slated to join an entertainment troupe. They put an ad out for a producer, a manager, an everyday everyman, and in her desperation to flee the monotony that plagued her, she signed up.

And now, she was set to leave, but not without fulfilling a promise.

The pen moves on its own accord. Ink plagues the parchment, it spills and it flows all over, she’ll have to clean it later, but not before doing everything she could, she would tell the truth.

.

.

.

The skyfarer tucks a strand of fair hair behind her ear, but not before adjusting her thin wire glasses. Her stare is invasive, and Anzu shifts underneath its intensity.

“Is this all?”

Anzu nods, and stares at the envelope in Yako’s gloved hands.

“I thought there would be a little more, y’know?”

“Chizuru."

The draph girl bites her nails, and casts an apologetic glance. She looks a bit frazzled, despite her well kept appearance. Even when she’s dressed in the finest silks and decorated with the most charming of trinkets, Anzu can feel the anxiety radiate in waves. It makes her pick at her own clothes, she feels so plain in comparison. A pink blouse tucked into black breeches, and the simplest armor in their begotten home. She’s tied her dark brown hair back with a blue ribbon, and even that feels banal next to Chizuru’s pearls and sateen. Yako’s dashing, in every way, she wears a rapier on her hip, and a rose on her chest. If these were the ones with gazes set towards Estalucia, then, Anzu knows they would make it.

They at the very least, look the part of heroes.

“We will deliver this. This island, it’s on the way, as you know.” Anzu wants to tell Yako that she does not have to repeat herself for the sake of theatrics, but that seems like a lost cause. Instead, she moves her hand towards her leather pouch and Yako shakes her head.

“There’s no fee.”

Don’t say that so—

“Please. It’s a favor, for you. Our oldest friend.”

Chizuru nods, and Anzu resigns herself. It’s fine, then. It must be. They were all there when the sky opened up, and the sun swallowed them whole. They were together when their island was no more.

Bonds forged in destruction were the ones that were made to last.

Yako tucks the envelope into her purse, and pulls Anzu into her arms. Anzu stiffens at the sudden contact—she pulls back, and Yako smiles sadly. There is no pretend in her expression.

“I’m really glad we were able to see you today. It’s been too long.”

Yes, it has been, Anzu wants to respond. And who’s fault was that?

Another girl waves from the deck, another draph. She cups her mouth with her hands to shout. In between the unzipped coveralls, and the messy brown hair, even her sleepy expression sharpens. She’s got an awful look in her eyes, and all her ire is focused on the captain of their ship.

“Stupid Yako! Chizuru! The ship’s ready!”

“Oh shut it, Chika! We’re having a very sincere and touching moment!”

The grandiose personality Yako’s built for herself topples like a house of cards, and Anzu appreciates that. She finally smiles.

“Best wishes on your travels.”

She bows, and Yako scratches the back of her head. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and then returns Anzu’s gesture with a bow. Her elegant coattails flutter behind her.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll come back with an answer.”

The crew waves goodbye as they take to the sky.

.

.

.

The primal beast Clochette carries an awful sort of legend.

Rumors had it that the monster used to be human, a girl so in love with music, and all it encompassed. She wrote passionate scores and transcribed sonnets, all for the girl she loved. She was the pious sort, a worshipper at the temple on their island home. Their primal protectorate was a kind spirit, but required a strenuous amount of energy from its priestesses. The girl was already the sickly sort, frail and far too stubborn to quit, so the monster played for her. She made magic and spun fairytales out of strings.

An astral found her plight absolutely fascinating and gave her something more, something so much more than she ever dreamt of.

An eternal life, with wings the color of night, with a voice that would ring out past the horizon.

The angelic girl would die before Clochette. It was fated in the stars, and it became her curse.

“But, they say she met someone else. Years and years later.”

“Yes, but I do wonder. Was she our darling fairy?”

Yako pinches the nose that belonged the primal beast in their own group. The erune scrunches up her face, and throws on a pout. Her dark hair glistens with an ethereal quality. Her gaze softens, but Yako does not let go. (Something about being here today, being gone tomorrow, and maybe she’s a little nervous after the talk of their target’s less than loving past—)

“Of course she is. We wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t the case.”

There’s a rustle of priestess robes, and a laugh like wind chimes. Hajime summons a staff from one of her layers, and Chizuru yelps from the vanguard.

“Something’s coming—!”

Chika grits her teeth, and fires a warning shot. Yako dashes forward to join Chizuru, drawing her blade.

“What is the point of a song if no one can hear it?”

The distorted chant cuts to the bone.

“A fallen angel, huh?” Yako digs her heels in, and hisses an incantation rite. Her magic isn’t meant for offense, but, if she could give Chika and Chizuru the opening they needed…The girls dodge pieces of ceramic and synchronize their attacks, but this is only the beginning. Clochette descends onto a hallowed stage, an altar made of ivy and broken marble. There’s nothing missing save for an audience, and their crew would be her first in eons. The wind around them only works to suffocate. They will listen to her song.

She’s dressed in black and red, checkered patterns drip from her legs, arms painted in silver turn into claws, bloodied bandages at every joint. There is no time to admire the handiwork on her obsidian scythe, it sweeps the area in a fit of rage.

“Can someone distract her?! Maybe?! I can’t land a damn hit!” Chika shrieks, and Chizuru snaps an “I’m trying—!” back, swinging her cursed axe. She is a streak of pink and gold, going faster and faster and faster, but not fast enough to cut through feather bone.

“Hajime?” Yako raises her sword to diffuse a spell. The beast slams her staff into the cracks between the broken ballroom tile. 

“The ancient curse that binds you, I’ll be the one to break the chain—!“

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.

Their attacks land in succession, and it’s enough, it must be enough. Chika spits out blood, and wipes the sweat from her brow, as Chizuru tends to her wounds. If the blood in her own hair and dress bothered her, she didn’t make any comment about it. Hajime pulls Yako back up on her feet, they support each other’s weight, try to find some sort of stability in front of the shrine they’ve further desecrated. One step forward, two steps back. Yako wonders, if these sort of challenges will only continue to plague their quest.

“Of course, Yako.” It’s soft against her ear. Hajime smiles, but it’s the sort of expression that belongs to a god. There’s something sardonic there. “This is only the beginning. But, for her…”

For some, it was the start of a journey, and for others it was the end. They reach the monstrous girl, a broken bird in a gilded cage. She is beautiful, in every way. Untouchable, unattainable, her plight and her curse, the air around her still sings. Yako reaches her hand out. Her gloved has burned away by now, there’s only callused skin and dark nails. Clochette glares with a multicolored stare.

“What’s your name.”

“My Name?”

“Your true name.”

A silence that stretches out for an eternity. Seasons change, days turn into night, years relapse into a faraway era when a human girl held a beast.

“…Suzu.”

“This is for you.”

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.

.

Anzu stares at the sky. The wind picks at her clothes, she stretches her hand out towards the never-ending blue. A black feather dances with the northern breeze.

“Are you worried about something, Producer?”

“No, not particularly.”

There’s something peaceful about the wind today. It sings a verse, and Anzu can’t help but return it with a refrain.

.

.

.

The letter is signed _eternally yours_.


End file.
